


Shattered Armor

by SoHereWeAre



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, At Season 3 Episode 1, Attraction, Camelot, Cunnilingus, Deception, Denial of Feelings, Deviates From Canon, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Drama, Feelings Realization, Forbidden Love, Half-Sibling Incest, Incest, Jealous Arthur, Love/Hate, Magic, Making Love, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Parentage Reveal, Porn With Plot, Revenge, Secret Relationship, Seduction, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Sibling Incest, Spells & Enchantments, Swords & Sorcery, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22429735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoHereWeAre/pseuds/SoHereWeAre
Summary: Morgana emerges from the woods after Arthur had searched for her for over a year. Determined to destroy Uther and seize Camelot for herself and Morgause to restore magic acceptance to the realm, Morgana's plans change when feelings long since denied surface between her and Arthur. Events unfold towards an unexpected culmination that no one could foresee... not even Morgana.
Relationships: Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (minor), Morgana/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Morgana/Morgause (minor/mentioned)
Comments: 91
Kudos: 169





	1. Prologue

The dissipating sounds of fighting carried softly through the trees but touched Morgana as if thunder roared through her ears, even as her heart remained calm, cold, calculating. Timing was of the essence as was a flawless performance. From this point, while her well-worn slippers tentatively snapped fallen twigs as she ambled forward as if she were an old crone stumbling in the dark, everything relied on her reaching down within her and resurrecting the Lady Morgana. For over a year she had left that confused, weak girl for dead and became something more strong and powerful and knowing under Morgause's stringent yet tender guidance. Even now, as she pulled strands of her deliberately ratted hair forward to frame her dirtied face, she could feel her sister's strength and reassurance flow through her being. It fortified her as she arranged her expression in one of abject fear, helplessness, and destitution and advanced to emerge from the trees.  
Dusk had not yet fallen but Morgause's airy fog shielded her as she stumbled out into the open, clutching at tattered remnants of a muddy gown. 

She was not expecting to immediately come face-to-face with Arthur, but then again, why would she not? He was always front and center, leading his men into whatever battle or skirmish or danger he faced, the fool. The heir to Camelot should not be so careless with his life yet here he was, taking his stance in the mist and bravely positioning his sword in strike formation. Camelot's golden child, seemingly always protected from whatever dangers he encountered, as if there were some invisible shield guarding his life. Arthur, the good and just, the insufferable arrogant prat, the handsome and shining prince, adored by the people. Arthur, now even more grown into a man as his startled crystal blue eyes took her in as his sword hand relaxed. Even through the haze and distance she could see the wear and lines in his face, the haggard expression of a seasoned warrior who has not rested in over a year. His hair was as sullied as hers, appearing an almost brown instead of the honeyed blonde that turned every peasant girl's head. Dull, colorless, staid in his armor and chain mail, his broad shoulders sunken, his mouth slightly open. Yet she could feel the intensity of his gaze upon her as she advanced.

"Morgana." 

Her name from his lips verberated through the woods and quickened her heart in that low voice she had so easily and willingly forgotten in her thirst for knowledge, revenge, and acceptance. It rushed over her unexpectedly and she stumbled, falling on her knees to meet the dead leaves and muddied ground. Whether it was a dramatic display or genuine feeling coursing through her, she did not know and did not care to dwell upon.

Arms gathered her up, crushing her to steel and sweat and warmth, gloved hands cradling her head as if it were made of the most precious stained glass. Morgana's senses are more sharp and she felt the strength, smelled the warrior's power. Memories flashed through her mind as bright as the sparks of a fire snapping through her head -

 _It has been only a little more than a year but this is not the Arthur I know_. 

"Morgana, Morgana, you are alive. You are _alive_ -" Lips seared through her mussed hair as if it were washed and scented with the most fragrant of flowers. Her skull burned where mouth net scalp. 

"Arthur." She swallowed, her arms finding their way around his neck while he lifted her far too easily into his arms. Instinctively she buried her head into his neck, allowing herself to fixate on the mad pulsing of his perspiration-drenched neck. 

She could sense the power in him that was never found in Uther.

"It's all right, it's all right, I've got you." He murmured into her hair in an attempt to soothe her, but at the mere thought of Uther she tensed and clenched her jaw. Arthur being Arthur did not even notice the difference in her as he turned and made his way back to the bandits' camp, where Morgana viewed through slotted eyes the soldiers and knights of Camelot stood as if transfixed, all of them bowing their heads as Arthur approached. All except one man gave her a Lady's due honor.

Merlin.

He stood as if terrified, his throat constricting. Morgana suppressed a leering smile as her eyes squeezed shut, still seeing the horrified young man behind her darkened lids.

"Clear one of the tents!" Arthur's voice boomed a command and she heard a skirmish as men did his bidding. 

Only moments passed before Arthur swept into one of the tents to lay her down on a makeshift bed of blankets that still held some of the warmth of a fallen bandit. Morgause's henchmen, soldiers loaned by Cenric that he knew full well were being sent to a slaughter so that Morgana could execute their plan with credibility. She felt nothing for the dead outside, nothing for the dead men of Camelot that battled to bring her home. One more killed solider was one less to kill once Camelot was warred upon.And bring war she would, after she extracted her revenge on Uther Pendragon.

She allowed Arthur to fuss over her, leaving her only for a moment to accept a damp cloth from one of the knights with which he gently wiped away the dirt from her face before adjusting a makeshift pillow of a rolled-up blanket underneath her head. It was strange to see him act as a nursemaid and a clumsy one at that. Even more odd how he tugged off his gloves to smooth her hair away from her forehead before clasping her cool hands into his warm ones; instant heat streamed up through her arms as she absorbed his life energy that flowed like the most torrid of rivers.

It nearly took her breath away.

"Morgana - are you hurt? Are you -" He swallowed, briefly scanning down her body and up to her face again, his eyes full of concern - "Are you able to ride?"

Nodding to give the impression she was overwhelmed and too traumatized to speak, she slowly moved to an upright position. She knew what he was truly wanting to know. It was all over his face, the way he looked at her body. He was not so much concerned with her emotional state as he was with her physical one. Typical of men, Morgause would say. Whether it was a rational fear due to a possible inability to ride or if he was worried many a man had sullied her virtue, she could only guess. Perhaps it was both. She looked imploringly up into his face to appear every bit the helpless damsel in distress being gratefully saved by her otherworldly prince... Arthur always enjoyed being the knight in shining armor. Only his armor looked dull and tainted to Morgana. He was was tired and dirty and as worn as she appeared, yet he was more appealing to her this way.

"I hate to do this, Morgana, but we are nearly a day's ride to Camelot. We cannot stay here. We must leave. Now. We don't know if there are others coming. It's all right, you don't have to say anything. I -" he let one of her hands go to card his fingers through his dingy hair - "You can ride with me on my horse. I would not let you ride with another."

"Thank you," she whispered, leaning to embrace him. She felt him stiffen at the gesture and she smarted inside a little. Her advancement was not welcomed for some reason and she let him pull away, his face strangely unreadable as he looked anywhere else but at her.

"Merlin!" He barked it out before turning to the opening of the tent. 

"Sire?" The dark-haired servant poked his head in, making a point to avoid her gaze. Her former friend-turned-murderer was obviously a coward. She wondered how he had been bold enough to poison her.

"Bring me my horse. We ride for Camelot immediately." When the man didn't instantly leave, Arthur became more sharp and was more harsh with his manservant than she had ever heard him to be. " _Now_ , Merlin!" 

Morgana cringed away, hoping to imply she was traumatized by the yelling. A memory, perhaps, of men screaming at her, barking orders or demands. It had the affect she desired and Arthur looked contrite, even embarrassed at his thoughtless action.

"Morgana, I'm sorry." That was a first, Arthur apologizing to her for something. "I'm so sorry, please, forgive me." Another first, asking forgiveness. Arthur seemed to have hardened and softened at the same time. What had happened to him over this past year?

Determined, she once again embraced him and this time he accepted it, keeping his arms light around her. The armor was an annoyance but it was irrelevant as he gently kissed her forehead, his full, firm lips heating her cool skin. She felt it again, a rush of power, and it made her dizzy, near to fainting. Morgause had taught her to siphon energy from others and she was able to in small doses, but this was something different. His lips lingered and she could hear his heart hammering wildly, even though it was encased in clothing, chain mail, and armor. She should not have been able to hear it even if she had her head pressed to her chest, yet she could feel the beating as if her ear was upon his naked skin -

"Sire- your horse is ready." Merlin's haltingly cautious tone ripped Morgana back to normalcy as Arthur moved hastily away and left her cold. It was but for mere seconds as he scooped her up again without preamble and carried her out of the tent to his hazelnut colored steed. 

Morgana tensed as Arthur assisted her onto his horse; Merlin was dutifully on the other side to steady her and she did not relish the thought of him touching her. He attempted an awkward smile through his guilt-ridden expression and inwardly Morgana seethed. Once, she confided in Merlin, saw him as a friend and perhaps even for one insane moment she thought him charming in his own stumbling way, but there was nothing left for her to feel besides enmity for the one who betrayed her trust not just by poisoning her, but by dismissing her anguish over her dreams of things that come to pass and treating her as if she were a delusional fool. He would soon see who the true fool was, when she and Morgause executed their plans -

She grasped the pommel, determined to not need Merlin's help, and Arthur encased her with his red cloak before joining her. Memories of how they would ride together on one horse when they were younger flashed but she expelled it from her mind. Childhood fancies had no place here but in spite of herself, she pressed back flush against him, allowing her head to loll to the side to press into the steel of his armor. A vision seared and she gasped, jerking her head away. 

Morgause had taught her well to control her reactions to her visions but this one tossed her body into a sea of inexplicable longing and pain centered in her heart.

Arthur must have mistaken her actions as disgust for his armor, as he wasted no time in attempting to tear it off his body and barking at Merlin to remove the damned thing, along with his chain mail, despite the feeble protesting from his servant that he would be left vulnerable in case of a surprise attack. Of course it provided more room for them and less weight for the horse carrying two, and made a more comfortable ride back to Camelot -

"Full speed, to Camelot!" 

The horse was spurred to a gallop and Arthur led the way, his arms strong around her even as he held the reigns. She found it was not an unwelcoming feeling, and once again she felt the draw of him, the heat, now made more potent without the layers, and she pressed back into him, feeling the hard lines of his chest.

"Father will be overcome, Morgana. He will cry tears of joy." 

She heard him over the horses and clamoring of the soldiers, speaking strong and proud as he kept her firmly against him. As he did, her jaw clenched. She remembered what her purpose and plan entailed and who it was meant for. Uther. The murderer of so many innocents. The betrayer and hypocrite and the reason her kind were nearly extinct. If he knew of her abilities, he would not think twice in putting her to death, and she should not think twice about letting him suffer for all that he has done.He deserved to be tortured and to lose his kingdom. She hated him with her entire being, for all that he stood for and all that he had done and will do. She needed to remind herself that Arthur was an extension of his father. Once, once she thought he might break from Uther's influence and be a just and fair ruler. She always guided Arthur to stand up to Uther and do the right thing, yet when it came to magic, he accepted the law of Camelot and even enforced it. He had even hesitated on saving the boy Mordred and only relented because she begged him. It would not matter to either him or Uther that they cared for her; they would not hesitate to see her burn for who she was. 

Yet Arthur had been able to be persuaded by her. Perhaps that could work to her advantage if it were still true.

Arthur was not a lost cause.

Morgana's brows furrowed together and clutched the cloak to her with one hand, breathing in Arthur's distinct scent. She needed to concentrate on Uther and on Morgause's plan. She could trust no one: not Uther, not Merlin or Gwen or Gaius, or even Arthur. Morgause has been the only one to accept her as she is, the only one who has cultivated her potential and made her more than what she had been. Without Morgause she would be trapped as Lady Morgana within the suffocating walls of Camelot, made to marry some overbearing Lord and live in fear the rest of her life that whatever king sat the throne would have her head if they knew the truth. It was Morgause who opened her up to the beauty and power of magic; the one who took a mere lady in a silk gown and transferred her into a sorceress, priestess, seductress, warrior. She alone deserved Morgana's loyalty and allegiance; not Uther, not Arthur.

Still, something was awakening inside her as Arthur's arms tightened their hold over her body possessively. She felt it when she first met Arthur's eyes in the woods, and she realized he had looked upon her the same way he had in the past but she had been too much of a stupid, naive girl to truly see it for what it was. 

Maybe she was meant to take more from Uther than just his kingdom.


	2. The Red Dress

“My Lady, these diamonds are exquisite. The King has been showering you with so many lovely gifts since your return.” 

“Are they?” Morgana slowly turned her head side-to-side, her vanity mirror catching the gleam and reflecting an occasional glimmer cast from the strings of jewels Gwen was weaving deftly down through the lengths of her pulled-back dark hair. The adornments were as hard and cold as her heart and mind was where Uther was concerned.

“Of course. I know the King will be pleased to see you wearing them at the feast.” Gwen stepped back to admire her handiwork and Morgana caught the satisfied beam. When her servant smiled, it radiated through her gentle face. Despite her mood and secret resentment of not just Uther but of the woman who she had thought of as more than a servant, Morgana’s full red lips curled a little in reciprocation. 

“How could I not,” she murmured without feeling, returning to add some light rouge to her pale cheeks before admiring the view. 

“But - My Lady - are you sure you want to wear that gown? The King has had so many new gowns made since you’ve been gone -”

“Are you questioning my choice?” It came out light as a feather but a rebuke all the same. “ This gown is my favorite one. It may not be as ornate as all those frothy confections in my closet, but this is the one I chose.”

“No, My Lady. I - I think it is a lovely gown. No one will be able to take their eyes off of you.”

That was the plan.

Morgana sighed as she moved her left hand to graze the bracelet adorning her right wrist. The gold and pearl jewelry with tiny encrusted diamonds felt warm against her skin. Out of all the Welcome Home presents she had received, this one was her favorite. From Arthur. Who knew he had such good taste in women’s attire? He had boasted to her that he chose it himself, no doubt at the reassuring advice of Gwen or Merlin.

“Well I know a pair of eyes that will not take one wit of notice of me once you are in the room,” she baited, her whole body tensing at her own words.

Gwen’s eyebrows furrowed together, her smile gone. 

“I seriously doubt that, My Lady.” 

Morgana doubted it as well but she feigned a teasing, mischievous look.

“I have eyes, Gwen, and I know a certain dark-haired manservant seems very besotted.” 

She didn’t miss the unhappiness and awkward smile and considered it a victory.

The whole castle may be blind, but it took Morgana all of two days upon her return to discover Gwen and Arthur harbored feelings for each other. She didn’t know if it was Morgause’s training to glimpse into people’s souls or if it was her own woman’s intuition, or the fools’ own furtive looks of forbidden longing, but it was easy to see that somehow in little over a year, Arthur had fallen for a simple serving girl. Morgana had raged quietly in her chambers, the fear that her newly revised plans would all be ruined gnawing at her like an infestation of rats. She was risking everything; the wrath of Morgause, the future of Camelot, her own heart - and was it truly possible to be thwarted by one lowly maid? 

Adding to her concerns was that Morgause had been waiting impatiently for Uther’s tears; when Morgana slipped away in the middle of the night, she had gathered the inner courage to lie to her half-sister, telling her Uther was such an unfeeling man that he had not cried at her return, even as the vial pressed against her inside her cloak. It was a small lie, one she nearly regretted once the words passed from her lips, but her mind focused on Arthur and the throne. She reassured Morgause she still wanted revenge on Uther - that was very much the truth - and she wanted her and Morgause to rule Camelot and eradicate the persecution of their kind. Yet she offered her plan up to Morgause in a way she hoped the priestess could understand: take Camelot peacefully. To do so by force would mean the subjects would not be loyal; they would only obey as much as their fear would allow. Cedric should be dismissed unless needed in the future. 

Taking over Camelot by aligning with Arthur - who has shown to be sympathetic and just without his fathers’ influence - and quietly disposing of Uther once the union is secured - would ensure Camelot under their control through the golden prince who would be King. With Morgana as his Queen. What better revenge than to turn Uther’s only son and heir against him and also have the people on her side? Thanks to Morgause’s lessons, Morgana was confident she could siphon from the mutual attraction they had felt in the past and expand on it; for all of her and Arthur’s past bickering and picking and taunting, there was a love there and a much-denied underlying passion; and all it would take is a little time and effort to capitalize on the feelings, especially since he scoured the land looking for her and now seemed more protective of her than ever while managing to be a little less arrogant about it.

Briefly she considered using a love spell. They were rather simplistic to cast and also simple to hold for a long duration, but her vanity balked at the idea. She wanted him to desire her of his own free will - the submission would be far sweeter that way - but she had no qualms to use a potion as a last resort if needs be. 

The hesitation of using an enchantment did not extend to her servant.

Gwen was easy to cast a small anti-love spell upon. Nothing intricate or permanent, just a tiny nudge to take away the infatuation and replace it with apathy. It was working; the looks of longing were no longer passed; and as Morgana hid spying in the dark of a corridor, the exchanges she shared with Arthur were cold politeness and common courtesies. Coupled with the fact that if Arthur had an opportunity to slip away to his little love’s shack of a home, Morgana made sure to occupy his spare time. He had no chance to ask Gwen about her sudden lack of adoration and longing, and Arthur being Arthur, he was not going to play the sad and hurt jilted lover for long. Already the bewilderment at being treated so formally by his purported love was causing him to act out in other ways; pummeling his opponents in training, barking orders and bullying Merlin so loudly he was heard down the hall, even sulking at mealtimes, only speaking to her while ignoring everyone else at the table. So, pretty much he was the Arthur from days of old, with one exception: he treated her with more appreciation. 

“Even Merlin would be enchanted by you in that gown,” Gwen finally responded. “ Whatever man or men you may dance with tonight will be the envy of all the others.”

“Gwen! You flatter me!” She offered up a dazzling smile she had no feeling for. “Most of the Court cannot dance to save their lives. I believe this is just an excuse for Uther to put on a grand show and drink himself into a stupor for once.” She could only hope for the latter to happen tonight.

“Would My Lady like a stole? For your bare shoulders.” 

Morgana nodded just so Gwen could smooth down her handiwork and leave her alone with her thoughts for a moment. She knew full well that Gwen would be left to hold her wrap while she danced with her favorite partner. Peering into the looking glass, she could not help but admire her reflection. Pale, smoothed, bared skin exposed in her daring wine-colored sleeveless gown. No other lady in the court would dare to wear such a dress. It set her dark hair off perfectly and the diamonds twinkled in her hair to match the shimmering emerald of her eyes. She could not remember the last time she had danced at a feast; this evening was not only an advancement of her plan, but also an opportunity to truly enjoy herself; an endeavor to which she had been denied far too long -

A sharp knock at her chamber door had Gwen scampering to the door. Morgana knew the knock all too well and she forced a dazzling smile when the door opened to reveal Uther standing tall and proud, a fatherly look of pride on his aging face. She thought he looked ridiculous standing there in his dark resplendent attire, his crown smartly polished on his grey receding hair. His blue eyes were a match in color to his son’s, but where Arthur’s could convey wild emotions, Uther’s were like flints of stone. As always she steeled herself from reacting to this judgmental murderer in the way she felt while she rushed to him, her supple white arms reaching for him, which the fool readily accepted as he clasped his black leather gloved hands with her cool slender ones.

“Morgana! My dear, you are a vision!” Her whole body tensed at his voice. “ But you have so many new gowns -”

“Your Grace, I prefer this one. It just seemed to compliment your beautiful gift so well.” She cringed when he bent to kiss her cheek, resisting the urge to wipe the slight moisture his lips left drying. 

“Indeed. I think it was a wise choice to hold more than just a banquet. A true celebration with music and dancing is long overdue. Camelot’s Lady has returned, and it calls for a joyous evening -”

“Ah yes, joyous where all of your Knights and court lackeys drink themselves under the table or freely wench in the corridors,” she teased, bringing a sheepish smile to the King’s face. She had the urge to slap him but instead accepted Gwen wrapping her shoulders in the black stole. “Thank you, Gwen,” she offered, her hands thankfully releasing Uther’s so she could clutch at the saving piece of fabric. Typical Uther, he did not notice how her knuckles turned even more white than her milky skin.

“My Morgana, speaking the truth as always. I could never curtail your spirit, my dear.”

 _Oh you’ve tried_ , she wanted to say. _You’ve tried and you’ve failed and I will always find a way to defy you. Soon, I will take all you hold dear and you will watch it all crumble before you die_.

“Shall we?” Uther crooked his arm and Morgana wished he hadn’t. Obligated now, she took his arm as he led her out of her room and down the hall, descending the staircase. Her little delicate red velvet slippers made no sound in contrast to Uther’s stomping, jaunty boots. Gwen followed close behind, decorous in her simple white and tan servant’s uniform.

Entering the Hall through two massive doors swung open by two burly guards was of course a grand appearance; Uther did like to show off his ward with something akin to fatherly pride. As they entered, those seated at the long U-shaped table stood up in deference, while those mulling about bowed their heads respectfully. The room was adorned with flickering tapers that seemed to dance shadows over the red Pendragon tapestries gracing the walls, and the musicians were cornered out of the way, performing a soft melodic tune. Morgana nodded and smiled to everyone as they made their way to the center seats. 

Morgana only afforded a small, discreet look in Arthur’s direction where he stood to the right of his father’s chair. He was dressed smartly in a red tunic and matching leather doublet with dark brown breeches. His crown was perched impeccably on his glowing golden mop of hair. Broad shouldered and self- assured, he was every inch a King standing there, paying her reverence with a nod of his head and a jaunty raising of his cup while a devilish grin graced his face - 

_Do you know what you are saying, sister? This plan of yours, to take the realm and destroy Uther through Arthur. He is like a brother to you, is he not? If he would agree to make you Queen, you will need to take him to bed and keep him satisfied once he is there. Can you truly be willing to do this duty? I have resigned myself to the idea of taking Cedric to bed in exchange for his army... there is a difference. He is not family, he is merely a tool that I will be able to control through simple desires of the flesh that I am well versed in. You have not yet known the ways of men, Morgana, and all of my teachings will not truly prepare you for this_ \- 

“Morgana?” Uther’s query brought her back to her thoughts as she forced herself to smile and nod while he held out the chair to the left of his for her to sit. She sank gracefully and stared down at the plate of readied food. Mutton, and a full cup of wine. Uther was off on his speech - he liked giving those - but she blocked it out as she scanned the Hall. Familiar faces were easy to spot: Gaius, standing behind a nobleman’s chair next to Merlin. A sedate but unhappy looking Gwen moving around and filling drinks. The Knights Of Camelot, dressed formally in their uniforms but still casually lounging all the same; ladies and gentlemen of the Court; nobles from across the lands attending a banquet in her honor. She wondered if any of them knew magic; if any of them were like her: trapped, a caged animal wanting to be free… free to express themselves as they were without persecution. Perhaps there was a Druid or two among them. She imagined for a moment what it would be like to sit here; not suffering the pontifications of a zealot but as Queen. No one could touch her, tame her, keep her locked away. Her wish would be law -

“You do me such honor, my Lord.” She spoke the words gaily, raising her cup to his toast as if she appreciated his doting behavior. She would not forget all the times he threatened to have her confined to her rooms for whatever infraction she happened to make. He would do so much worse to her if he discovered her abilities; she was not such a fool to think his love of her was not conditional. Before her thoughts reflected on her face, she hastily gulped her wine.

The warmth of the dink flowing down inside of her gave her almost the same sensation she felt whenever she came into contact with Arthur. 

Sensually she shrugged off her wrap. Before the air could sweep over her exposed skin, Gwen was next to her to take the shawl away. She smiled at her thanks as her eyes shot over to Arthur to gauge his reaction. He looked sullen, a muscle working in his cheek while he chugged down his wine and beckoned Merlin for more. Gwen paid him no mind as she flitted away. 

Morgana had no mind for food but she nibbled on grapes, contemplating what her purpose was tonight. Wine, dancing, merriment, a revealing gown - they were all a heady combination of temptation, weren’t they? She noticed many men eyeing her in a way that should be insulting to the warden of the King but tonight it appealed to her femininity and determination. She could dance with any man here. None would refuse her… but one. Yes, one would refuse her just to be a prat if he felt like it, or want her to beg for it which she has never… nor would she ever…

But wouldn’t it be a little bit delicious if Uther had a hand in the start of his demise?

“Your Grace.” She picked lightly at her foster-father’s bejeweled sleeve. “I desire a dance. Would you be so kind as to ask your son to dance with me?”

Uther smiled and nodded his head before leaning over to Arthur, who shot her an indescribable look.

“I heard you, Morgana,” he said tersely. “You did not need to ask Father.”

“Oh but I do. He can command it and of course you cannot disobey an order from your King and father,” she replied too sweetly. 

“You know I don’t dance.” His eyes looked over the crowd, no doubt looking for Gwen. It angered her.

“Uther, command Arthur to dance a row with me. Since the celebration is in my honor, I choose to dance with the Prince Of Camelot.” She faux-pouted. Uther, amused, patted her hand and turned to his son.

“Arthur, I command -”

“Yes, father!” Arthur lifted out of his seat abruptly and huffed over to her while Uther laughed. “Far be it for me to refuse the King’s orders.”

“Thank you, Arthur, you are always the embodiment of a gentleman,” she teased lightly, smiling up at him as he presented his arm. She could not miss the way his eyes traveled over her revealing gown if she tried and a smug satisfaction washed over her. In spite of his dour mood he smiled when she stood to accept his offer.

“My Lady.” He made a small formal bow with a nod of his head and Morgana couldn’t be sure if he was sarcastic or not. Still, it was a start and she linked her arm with his, enjoying the firmness underneath the leather.

“My Champion,” she replied, followed by a small mock bow of her own. 

It was not her imagination when his eyes blinked down to her lips and away as he led her to the floor for their dance. It made the corners of her lips twitch upwards.

Morgana’s smile was genuine.


	3. The Gallant Knight And The Alcove

It would have pained her to admit it to Arthur - or anyone else for that matter - but he knew how to dance with gallantry and an ease that seemed in contrast to his flippant, arrogant side. 

Morgana wished for the tune to be more romantic and slow but she stepped lively and gracefully to match her unwilling partner who seemed to adapt quickly to his surroundings. It was the knight, the soldier, the warrior in him, the ability to conform to the situation he was in despite the circumstances being less than favorable. She knew they cut dazzling figures against the robust crowd and blazing torch lights, even more pronounced as couples moved a discreet distance away to afford them the center of not just the hall but also of the attention. 

“Is that a smile I see, dear Arthur?” She teased as she smiled prettily, twirling and stepping in time to the music, clapping her hands together. “I would not dare to say you may be enjoying yourself with something not involving a sword.”

“The company is not entirely unkind,” he admitted, “though these rows are meant to wear us out.”

“Then allow me to change the tune.” 

She broke abruptly from their dancing, giving Arthur a reprieve to stand there like a self-conscious oaf. Any fear of him deserting her to sulk back at the table was laid to rest when she glanced back as she made her way to the minstrels and noticed he was staring after her. 

“Good gentleman, I ask you to have mercy on us and slow things down?”

She smiled prettily, charming the group of men instantly as they immediately acquiesced to her request. Thankfully they started in a romantic tune, slow and melodic and undoubtedly meant for a courtly dance. Many of the guests returned to their seats but Morgana did not give Arthur a chance to escape. Supple arms outstretched, she held her head high and smiled her most beguiling smirk, raising an eyebrow. She knew Arthur would not refuse a challenge from her, not even when it came to dancing. He was well versed if not exactly enthusiastic; he was a Prince, after all, and this was just another duty he had to master. He smiled back, bowing his head slightly while offering his hand. 

Slower dancing meant she could touch, move closer, talk softer, and she slipped her hand in his. The warmth, the heat seemed to sink instantly into her skin, just as it has every time he touched her since he had found her. Palm to palm now, they began the circling steps; his other arm behind his back, hers crooked to rest her other hand on her hip. It was a far cry from the sensual, free dances she witnessed and participated in while she was away; Cenred’s court was truly a licentious one. When she was not training alone with Morgause, her half-sister used Cenred’s gloomy castle for more seductive lessons; unfortunately in Uther’s court everyone was in the constraints of decorum. Well, at least outwardly. What happened in the darkened corridors and in the chambers of the guests or the hay of a stable was a different matter. 

_Hypocrites, all of them_. 

Even as the polite dance allowed for limited sensuality, Morgana was still determined to use this opportunity to lure Arthur to her a little more. Easily she was the most beautiful lady here, and she did not miss the spark in Arthur’s eyes as he looked only at her. Their dance before rendered him distracted, detached, even as he would glance down her body before scanning the hall for Gwen, no doubt. Now, she had his full attention. 

“Did you dance this song while I was held captive?” She kept her tone low, throaty. “You aren’t missing a step.” Indeed, as they switched direction and changed palms, he kept in perfect motion. 

“I haven’t danced since you were gone, Morgana. There was no need for it. And there’s no need for your flattery.”

“But I thought Arthur Pendragon thrived on flattery - “ She twirled around, only to be caught and lifted by strong hands at her narrowed waist. Through the thin silk of her gown it felt like fire searing down her hips into her thighs. He set her down, one hand clasping palm-to-palm once again, but one hand staying on her waist. A grip more firm than what was necessary - “and don’t tell me Uther didn’t push some noble girl on you as a prospective bride -”

“Not while you were away.” His voice was no longer bored or jocular, but terse. “When would I have had time to play and dance with matchmaking when I was scouring the lands looking for you? Risking my life meant no time for courtly love.”

“Please Arthur, don’t be so sour. This night was meant to celebrate, not meant for a prince to be so pouty. If you don’t stop it, I shall find myself a more congenial partner.”

“Oh?” His eyebrow lifted and he smirked as he spun her around. He was a divine dancer, not really surprising. Watching him in fight practice or in tournaments, or even when walking, he moved with an assured yet graceful air. It was only natural it would spill over to other pursuits. “And what better partner would you even find?”

“Still as pompous as ever,” she chided. “ I know a great many men here who would be more than honored to dance with a Lady, and the King’s Ward, no less. They surely wouldn’t act as if it were the worst imposition.”

“Admit it, Morgana, you would not have as much fun dancing with another man. I mean, come on, you had to beg Father to have me dance with you. I’d say there is no being pompous about it. You didn’t want anyone else. You wanted me.”

He had her there and Morgana smarted inwardly while she held her sweet face. He could not know the real reason for wanting him to dance with her but he knew the truth just the same. Ever since they were younger, giving Arthur the upper hand in anything meant having to suffer through his intolerable gloating. The times she had beaten him were truly the most satisfying in her life, even though later he always denied she bested him or made excuses why she won. At least with Arthur she knew he wouldn’t just let her win on account of her being female, or a highborn lady. When she won it was always fair and square. He never made it easy on her. Never.

“Tell me, Arthur, how do you walk around with such a huge ego to weigh you down? Perhaps I should dance with someone who knows how to treat a lady. It seems you have forgotten how, with your… preference for being in the company of servants.”

She meant to enchant him, draw him in and enthrall him, but instead her barely-checked temper made her tongue sharp. Her statement could have meant how Merlin always seemed to shadow him so he has now lost his touch in dealing with highborns, but of course Arthur would see it as a jibe against Gwen and yes, it was what she meant anyway. Still, instead of looking guilty or contrite as she put him in his place, he instead twirled her around and pulled her flush against him. It was the closest she had ever been since riding on his horse returning to Camelot and it momentarily caught her by surprise.

“In that gown you are less a lady than you think,” he muttered against her temple. She barely had time to relish the close contact before he stepped back to clasp hands in time to the song. Flames rushed rampant through her whole being but now was not the time to swoon like so many of his adorning female admirers. Instead, she broke the measure to grasp his neck and pull his head down so she could tipoe up and whisper in his ear.

“Then you will not mind my very unladylike behavior.”

She felt him shiver a little before she forcibly shoved him away, pivoting around, scanning the hall for only a heartbeat before calling out.

“Sir Leon!” 

Most of the dancing couples faltered even as the music played on but Morgana, not giving Arthur a second glance even as her body hummed with his touch, made her way over to the confused knight, who had been sitting slumped over enjoying a cup of wine while chatting with other the knights. He had risen when Morgana called out to him, a little gangly and uneven in his surprise. Tall, slim, with tousled ginger hair, he was one of the most trusted and loved of the Knights Of Camelot. Arthur liked him a great deal and respected him, no doubt increased by the fact that he had been a childhood friend of Gwen’s while her mother had been a maid in his household.

Morgana smiled and offered her hand as Sir Leon bowed.

“Please dance with me. My… former partner has become such a bore.” 

“As… as you wish, my Lady.”

It was sweet balm to her pride to see the knight so flustered and a little in awe as he gallantly offered his arm. He was taller than Arthur and far more respectful as they made their way to the middle of the floor, where Arthur was no longer standing dumbfounded. He had stalked his way back to his seat next to his father, barking for more wine from a scurrying Merlin. Morgana smiled, laughed, complemented Leon even though he was a barely passable dancer, though admittedly he excelled at the lifting and twirling. Every time he cautiously touched her on her waist she stole glances over to Arthur, who scowled darker and darker each time she was spun around and gulped heavily from his cup. Even when he was obscured by the moving crowd she could feel his irritation and she reveled in it, her gaiety increasing when the particular dance called for the constant changing of partners, weaving in and out of a circle. Each pair of hands that passed fleetingly through hers felt cool against her touch in sharp contrast to the exciting sensation of Arthur’s, which she found herself longing for even more through the bevy of guests.

She kept Leon on as a partner through three more dances, and then begged him to take her outside for fresh air on a break, making sure Arthur would see her leave. Watch her he did as she deliberately passed by the head of the tables and caught his glower while he clutched his goblet in a death grip. He seemed more impossibly handsome while he brooded, even though Morgana would never admit it to him.

Sir Leon was polite and respectful company but her mind wandered as they strolled through the gardens in the enclosed rear courtyard of the castle. It was so lovely on a beautiful night but completely wasted in its air of romanticism on a respected knight who would not dare to do more than offer an arm to escort her around as his esteemed Lady. There was no danger of her honor being compromised as others had the same idea of enjoying the breezy night so they were not alone, but Sir Leon still seemed so nervous to be playing the temporary suitor. She inquired after his mother who was not well enough to attend and this seemed to place him at ease as he chatted amicably about his home. He did have a soothing voice and perhaps on some other occasion she would have been content to carry on an enjoyable conversation with him but Morgana’s thoughts were of nothing but Arthur. It was as if his hands still burned at her waist and his lips still breathed at her temple -

“My Lady, I apologize. You’re shivering.” 

Sir Leon hastily shrugged off his knight’s cloak and draped it around her shoulders. She offered a sweet thank you and he coughed as if embarrassed. 

“I suppose I should find Gwen. She has my stole.” It was a polite way to suggest they return to the banquet. She was sure they had spent enough time away for Arthur to think about her absence. Unless he was fixated on Gwen… she had not considered that.

Sir Leon bowed and offered his arm again and they returned leisurely to the great Hall. Although it was customary, Sir Leon’s deferential bow and chaste kiss to her hand appealed to her vanity as she nodded watching him walk away, not forgetting she still wore his cloak as she flounced over to Uther,who who was grinning up at her lovingly as he then stood while she took her seat and Arthur, who stood as curt as possible and flopped back down, his eyes narrowing. Innocently she situated the red garment around her and kept it on despite becoming quickly warm. 

“My dear, you were gone almost too long to be proper. The guests have abandoned dancing. How could they not after you left? I doubt there is a better dancer in all of Camelot.”

“My partner made it seem so.” That brought a smirk to Arthur’s face as he took a swig of his wine. She paused for effect.”Sir Leon dances very well for such a tall, lanky man.”

“Merlin!” The grin had faded as he barked, bringing the poor servant to his side.

“Sire?”

“My cup is empty.”

“Sire, you - are you sure you want -”

“I’ve not had nearly enough to listen to Lady Morgana extol the virtues of one of Camelot’s most trusted knights.” 

Uther’s brows furrowed.

“A servant does not question his prince,” he snapped, eliciting a bow and apology from Merlin while Morgana’s stomach tightened with resentment and hate. True, she cannot forgive Merlin for her poisoning or for how he seemed to worm his way into Arthur’s good graces, but her distaste for her foster-father outweighed any other feelings. 

“I am not that far gone, Father. I can hold my spirits better than you.” 

Morgana darted her eyes over to Arthur as he loosened the ties on his doublet. He ignored Merlin pouring the wine and instead scanned the quieting crowd. Indeed, there was a lull since the music had stopped and now only the hums of conversation and an occasional drunken outburst filled the room. There would be no more of an opportunity for her tonight to work any magic - rather, lack of - on Arthur. Inwardly she cursed his insufferable arrogance and also his damned devotion to her servant. She knew he was searching for Gwen with his eyes and it hurt her pride and for a moment uncertainty flooded her but then she reminded herself of who she was; a priestess, a beautiful and young and desired lady with all of the kingdom lying at her feet waiting to be freed from the oppression and persecution that Uther doled out in spades. Perhaps she should have followed through on Morgause’s plans; by now she and Morgause could be ruling Camelot. Yet what of Arthur? And what of the loyalty of their subjects? The Knights Of Camelot would refuse to serve a Queen that took by force and denied Arthur his right. Or was her rationale just a cover, a ruse, something to disguise her stronger desire to be not just Queen, but Arthur’s Queen?

“My Lord, I wish to retire.” She stood gracefully but suddenly, and Uther looked up at her with genuine concern. With repulsion well hidden she placed a slender hand on his shoulder. “I am simply exhausted from too much dancing. This was a wonderful evening.”

“Ah as you wish. I am happy you found the entertainment to your liking. I can never make up for the time you were away from us, Morgana, but I hope this night was memorable.”

“Good evening, my Lord.” She leaned down to kiss Uther’s wrinkling cheek before giving his son a curt nod. “Arthur.”

“My Lady.” Arthur cleared his throat trying his best not to look at her as he downed the contents of his cup.

She held her head high as she swept out of the Great Hall clutching Sir Leon’s cloak to her, resisting the urge to glance back to see if she still held Arthur’s captive gaze.

********************

Morgana stopped just outside the door to viciously wipe her lips of the feel of Uther’s skin. She didn’t care that there were guards and guests scattered in the hall who might have seen it. Indeed, she received a few looks, probably because she was donning a Knight Of Camelot’s cloak, but after the glances she received nods and curtseys as befitted her station as she made her way down the hall and away from the revelries, up the staircase and down another narrowing corridor that led to her rooms. It was dark and empty, so quiet in contrast to what was happening below. She really wasn’t ready for bed just yet and paused before an arched window overlooking the gardens she walked in with Sir Leon. The glass was not as translucent as her windows but she could still see the moonlight shining; it was full moon tonight. She felt a pang, an almost homesickness for Morgause and the castle ruins where they lived and she trained. Full moons meant more power; it also meant clarity, completion, and rewards. She remembers well the last full moon when she and Morgause were at Essetir and the awakening she experienced there with the knowledge she was ready to bring down Uther and his tyrannical rule -

Inadvertently she shivered and drew Sir Leon’s cloak in closer to her. The weather was changing almost instantly and the winds were gaining strength while the moonlight dimmed. There would be rain tonight, perhaps a storm. She leaned into the windowsill and rested her forehead on the pane of braised glass. She could feel the breeze as if she were actually outside in the gardens and part of her longed to run out of the castle, leave it all behind, but she was bound here by her mission, her duty to protect those of her kind no matter what the cost to her or those around her -

“Still in Sir Leon’s cloak, I see. Though, it is rather long for you.”

Startled, she turned to face Arthur in the poorly lit corridor. The dim torches danced flickers of light on his impossibly handsome face as he stealthily approached her, his swagger marred by a slight swaying while his hand rubbed the back of his neck. Her chill dissipated.

She tossed her head. 

“Yes, I mean to seek him out to return it -”

“Ah, a clandestine meeting in the shadows of an alcove? Fie, Morgana, you should know better. You wouldn’t want your girlish reputation ruined by idle gossip.” His words were slightly slurred and she knew he had far too much to drink.

“As if being held captive for so long was not enough to destroy any notions of my virtue or propriety,” she retorted. “I care not for rumors. Sir Leon is nothing if not honorable, and more pleasing company than a sulking boy. Really, Arthur, you should try to enjoy yourself more often and not act like a jealous suitor every time I show interest in another man. It is very unbecoming of a Prince Of Camelot.”

“Jealous? Me? Don’t make me laugh.” He strutted over to plunk his bottom on the sill next to her and crossed his arms, giving the appearance of casually lounging even though she could feel the tension radiating from his whole body. 

“Why are you here, Arthur? Are you lost?” His rooms were down the other hall and there was no need for him to be in her wing.

“Of course I’m not lost. -”

“No, just drunk.”

“Not drunk enough,” he muttered. “Father’s festivities leave me wishing there was a war or mission so I could be excused from attending. Besides, I wanted to make sure you weren’t putting poor Leon under your spell.”

Her breath caught as it always did when anyone mentioned magic around her, even in jest. Always afraid, always so terrified someone would see guilt on her face telling the world she was one of the detested -

“Oh Arthur, do be serious. You truly have had too much to drink “

“So what of it? You are having too much fun with the… honorable Sir Leon to notice. Besides, it’s true.” His words were quiet and struck terror in her heart even as she knew he did not mean them to be serious. “The way you look tonight, the way you danced and had to have all eyes on you. Dressing in a gown that no true lady would ever have dared to wear. Vanity is not becoming in a Lady, you know.” 

“Yet it suits a man?” 

“I’ve changed, Morgana. You just refuse to see it. I am not who I was a year ago.” He leaned his head back against the window but did not break his gaze from her. She could see his throat constricting in his arched neck. With his doublet undone and his shirt untied from the first few eyelets, he was the picture of a casual figure as he looped his thumbs into his dark brown leather belt. Only the sharpness in his deep blue eyes and the muscle in his cheek gave his tension away. “Everything has changed since the night you disappeared without a trace. You, most of all.”

“I suppose a year in captivity would do that to someone,” she retorted, his statement making her nervous. Part of her deception was to remain the Morgana everyone knew and loved so as to not arouse suspicion, and if someone as oblivious as Arthur noticed a change…

“No, it’s more than that. Since I brought you home you have been seeking me out, spending time with me if I ever have a moment to spare. It isn’t like before. You used to challenge me, goad me into doing the right and just thing, there was so much fire in you but it was for the greater good of everything. You made me feel like a man, not a boy. Even our arguments and jibes - now it feels different. Now, even our playful banter seems… it seems… wrong.”

“What?” Her hand flew up to fidget with the clasp on Sir Leon’s cloak. It seemed to suddenly constrict her. “Arthur, you don’t know - “

“I do know.” He stood and crossed his arms in front of him and a smirk formed. “It’s obvious. You want me.”

“Oh, do be serious! You truly are drunk! I am going to call for Merlin to put you to bed and then Gaius can prepare a healing draught to help with your headache in the morning -”

“Morgana, just admit it. If you just admit it, I’ll only hold your feet to the fire for a little while.” His mouth pursed as he looked up and off to the side, tilting his head. “Well, maybe longer than a little while.”

“You are being a ridiculous prat!” This wasn’t the way she wanted things to go; not at all. He wasn’t supposed to be taking the idea of her as an amusement and he certainly wasn’t supposed to suspect anything was amiss.

“Really?” He stalked forward a few steps and reached out to touch the lining of Leon’s cloak. Her hand clutched the fastener even harder. “Our dance, the dress, wearing the bracelet I gave you as a gift, abandoning me on the floor in front of everyone to take up with one of my knights hoping to render me insane with jealousy. Do you think I am ignorant of women and their ways? I am not.”

“Oh no, Arthur, I do not think you are ignorant of women. Of what a Lady desires, yes, in that you are as dense as Uther’s fool... but you know all too well the needs of serving wenches.”

“What did you say?” The shock and then guilt spread over his face and she hated to admit how much she relished it, along with letting out a little hurt pride. 

“I think you heard me perfectly clear. I doubt the wine was poured into your ears. My maid is more to your level, is she not? What a challenge that must have been to woo her into your bed! I understand it, of course. No effort needed to win such affections -”

“Gwen is virtuous - “

“So it _is_ Gwen! My own servant. Well, now I know how _you’ve_ changed since I’ve been gone. Chasing the skirts of a commoner and making a fool of yourself. Yes, you are _surely_ a changed man, Arthur. I wonder what Uther would think of it. I bid you good evening -”

She mock-curtsied and side-stepped him to leave but he surprised her by grabbing her arm. The heat burned through the cloak and she did not want to disengage his hand even as she felt her vanity smarting.

“You can not tell Father. It doesn’t matter anyway,” he muttered. “It’s over. Ever since you’ve been back, it’s been over. Ever since I - “ he faltered, his grip weakening, his eyes searching her face while his brows furrowed. His pupils seemed to dilate and the torches teased a reflected fire there - and suddenly Morgana had a brief, searing vision: _a crowned Arthur with armor of glowing silver, splintered, shattered, red flowing like poured wine from the purest of colors_ \- 

“Arthur,” she whispered, momentarily dazed as she caught her breath, her arm slackening under his hold.

He must have mistook her reaction to The Sight as breathless ardor because as her vision blurred with pieces of armor falling from her golden King, she found him pushing her up against the stone wall, his hands reaching up to cup her face before his lips crashed down into hers in a fierce yet stumbling kiss, awkward only in that first second of melding. His lips were hard but warm and she gasped into his demanding mouth but did not fend him off. No, she did not want to refuse such a feeling as his body shoved into hers, pinning with no chance of escape. His previous taunts of her wanting him made her slam her palms against the stone to prevent from embracing him, the cool surface keeping her grounded even as the fire ripped through her body and threatened to buckle her knees. His kiss was merciless but skilled and she wondered if he ever kissed Gwen - or any other - like this. He was all heavy of breath as she gave him the small permission of moving as he desired, attempting to not give any credence to her inner turmoil. 

Everything was blurring, dark, heady, as strong as a good flask of wine and she wasn’t sure when his trembling hands roughly unhooked the clasp of his knight’s cloak so that it was easily dropped to the floor, but she knew the moment his lips left hers to travel down her neck, biting nips into her exposed shoulder just enough to make her bite her own lip to prevent any affirmative whimper or moan escape. Maybe her hands carded through his silky golden strands, maybe she arched into him as much as she could, did it truly matter? She has never felt so in tune with her own body, never felt this intimacy with another man, and she couldn’t help but squeak out a tiny exclamation when teeth and mouth explored her breasts, wetting the fine thin silk of her gown. It was as if there were no barrier at all - 

Arthur’s head jerked up and she met his gaze even as she didn’t want to. He had the nerve to smile licentiously even though his breathing was labored with passion and want. Never mind how her chest rose and fell rapidly or how she could feel the evidence of her own desire between her legs.

“What was that, my Lady Morgana?” His voice was low, thick, sensual. She had never heard him like this and she swallowed hard. “Did you mean to speak? To tell me you want me, perhaps?”

He was beyond all stomaching! 

“The only thing I want is for you to leave,” she managed to mutter, amazed at how normal her voice sounded.

“Is that so?” He leaned in, seemingly towering over her, his body against hers. She could feel through his breeches how he wanted her, and she wanted to make mention of it to embarrass him, but she did not get the chance. His breath was on her face, smelling oddly sweet of wine. He was close enough to kiss her but instead he smirked, refusing to stop staring at her as he lowered his hand downward between them. 

Morgana thanked all the gods and the goddesses in existence for being tucked off to the side in a small alcove as she could not imagine a wandering guard or servant or guest happening upon them for what was happening. Did Athur’s hand truly cup her womanhood as if there were no cloth separating her skin from his palm? Had he not been supporting her with his body she would have collapsed. She was thankful for the semi-darkness as she blushed furiously as he discovered her bold decision she had made when donning her gown for the evening. He let out a low guttural grunt of surprise.

“Why Morgana, you are far more wicked than any Lady I have known. Parading around the crowd with no underthings on.” His breath became heavier. “I guess this makes it easier. Easier to see if you really do want me.”

Before she could retort or push his hand way - if she had even wanted to - his lips sought hers again and it was more demanding, more uncaring and accompanied by tongue and teeth while both hands scrambled madly to push up her long skirt, holding the bunched up flimsy fabric with one hand while heated fingers sought out her wetness on the other. It set her mind reeling, her head blazing with a sensation foreign to her: unbridled lust. All pretenses ebbed away as he breached her, slipping two long digits inside, the movement emitting sounds of her obvious want of him. Slick, sticky, and exposed, Morgana could not find it in her to be ashamed. Instead, she adjusted to make it easier for him to go deeper, jutting her hips forward to encourage him to move, while giving back each bite to the lip and gripping his neck so tightly she feared she might be hurting him. 

He started to laugh in triumph but stopped when her own hand slipped between them to smooth over his erection. He could not fault her when he was just as wanting as she, could he? 

He moved his head to pant in her ear and she turned her head to the side, the cool stone wall doing nothing to assuage the flush in her cheek. 

"I've found you out. Your cunt is as wet on my fingers as -" he faltered and but her earlobe instead. No doubt either too impassioned or tipsy to think of an allegory but she nearly buckled anyway just from the way he actually said _cunt_. 

He wasn't drunk enough to not detect her reaction.

“Do you want it, Morgana? My - ah, my cock?” Her toes curled at that and she screwed her eyes shut tightly while her hands moved away. She did not want to acknowledge how shocked and yet aroused she was at his uncharacteristic talk. She thinks her action might have made him frustrated, maybe angry even, because she no longer had to move her hips to encourage him to finger her. He did so with a furious abandon, twisting and sliding and thrusting, his palm soon slapping madly against her folds, creating echoes of flesh on flesh mixed with her own little moans in an empty corridor, and she felt it then, the climbing to a climax. He somehow knew she was fighting for the release to wash over her as he lunged down to bite into her neck just above the golden collar line of her dress, even as his jagged words muffled into her skin.

“You’re going to cum for _me_ , aren’t you? You will, because you want this, don’t you Morgana, you want _me_ … cum for _me_ -”

The knowledge that it was Arthur sputtering out husky demands that she peak for him made it that more intoxicating. Always with him there was a desire to do the opposite of his wishes just to defy and vex him but in this her body and mind had no other will than to bend to his. It shouldn’t be this way, a tawdry tryst just steps away from her chambers where she had her skirts hiked to welcome pleasures from the Prince of Camelot’s persistent kisses and hands. It was supposed to be her bending him to her will, her need. He was to be her puppet King to his powerful Queen. This was a different Arthur, a stranger inhabiting his skin, and she both loved and feared the change. 

Even as her legs tensed in anticipation she pressed her cheek harder into the wall, desperate to delay her orgasm, maybe determined not to let it happen but at the same time she chased it; but perhaps not looking at him would defeat his ego but she could never imagine another in his place, try as she might.

Arthur seemed to know what she was attempting to do as his idle hand dropped her skirts to turn her head to face him, She refused to open her eyes but he kissed her soundly with a solid grip to her chin and Morgana responded with the same furious hunger; her hands grappling on his broad shoulders, tasting his mouth as her thighs squeezed together. It was if her whole being insisted on hold him in whatever thrall it could as his rough fingers kept their tireless rhythm, both hurting her and hurtling her towards the certain ecstasy - 

He shoved her away, yanking his fingers from her warmth so abruptly she stood immobile, shocked, confused, as he swept down to retrieve Sir Leon’s cloak, pivot around, and wipe his mouth before stepping out into the corridor. 

“Guinevere.” 

Even in her dazed lust, Morgana managed to smooth out her gown and hair before her servant came within view even as her body screamed out for a climax. Gingerly she tiptoed out from the shadows to stand by the window as if nothing was amiss while regulating her breathing. A faint amusement surfaced as she noticed Arthur holding the resplendent cloak in front of him, hiding the painfully obvious bulge in his trousers.

“My Lord, my Lady.” A quick curtsy as Gwen’s eyes flitted from one to the other. “Forgive me, but I was searching for you Lady Morgana. You had left this in the Great Hall.” To affirm, she held up the wrap.

“Thank you, Gwen.” Morgana managed a gentle smile. “ I guess I must have forgotten it since I had borrowed Sir Leon’s far more comfortable cloak. Which,” she added,”Arthur came after me to retrieve for him. So silly of me. At least Arthur remembered.”

“Um, yes, I -” He faltered while staring at Gwen. The longing coupled with resentment in his eyes was unmistakable. Something like fire struck her heart. Whatever he did with her in the alcove just moments before, it was obvious his affections still lay with her servant. She had been a plaything, a distraction from his pain of Gwen’s apparent detachment from him, just some female to use to replace who he truly wanted. How could she have thought he wanted her for herself?

“Gwen, would you be so kind as to return it to Sir Leon, along with a message? Please let him know I enjoyed his company tonight and would very much like him to accompany me in the gardens again, when time permits.” She reached out to take her own wrap while Arthur begrudgingly handed over the clothing to Gwen before tugging down his tunic at a feeble attempt to use it as a shield. It didn’t matter anyway as Gwen smiled at Morgana and paid him no mind. The spell was still quite intact.

“I think he will be pleased, my Lady.”

“Oh, and find Merlin, let him know Arthur is drunk and in need of sleep.”

“I can manage on my own, thank you.” Arthur was sullen again, quite the contrast to the naughty lothario he seemed to have been with her. “Good evening, _Guinevere_.”

Indignation swelled in her even though she was sodden between her legs and still very much humming with passion. He deliberately left her out of the goodbye as he stalked off in the other direction towards his own chambers. The insult was no doubt meant to sting, and it did.

“I am retiring, Gwen. I can manage undressing myself. Please give my regards to Uther. The dancing quite wore me out. You can go home.”

“Yes, my Lady. Have a good rest.” Gwen curtsied prettily before turning and gracefully retreating. Soft of voice and step, her curly hair glistening as she walked by the torches, Morgana could see how Arthur had fallen for the sweet girl but it did not make it hurt any less. 

As she made her way into her chambers and bolted the door from the inside, she briefly considered stealing out of the castle to visit Morgause but all her thoughts were colored by Arthur and his touch. Damn Gwen. If she had not interrupted, he would have easily given her the most shattering orgasm she ever experienced. Even now she felt her body so primed for it. There was no doubt they would do well in a marriage and it would not be one of mere convenience. From now on, Arthur could not deny there was a passion between them that had laid dormant just under the surface of all their bickering and jealousies. Even if he still pined for a servant, there was nothing to stop her from seducing him. He cared for her, had affection for her, and obviously was not adverse to her physically. There was hope. However, her vanity would not allow any competition for his heart… or his body. 

Her slippers were easily kicked away and her gown slipped off in a whisper as she sensually crawled under the silken sheets of her canopied bed. The jewels were left interwoven in her air and the bracelet from Arthur still gleamed around her wrist. She touched it reflectively before closing her eyes.

She was still so wet between her legs; tingling with the sensation of his fingers still invading her most private place. She was sore but it was a good soreness and her hand slipped down between spread legs, her fingertips skimming through dark pubic hair to touch her folds and she gasped at how drenched and swollen she really was. Not even during Morgause’s most sensuous lessons had she been this way -

 _King Cenred’s castle has many rooms, usually dark and dank and in desperate need of a woman’s touch, but the ambiance of the room was lost as Morgana as Morgause presented her a chosen assistant for her training. The man in question was one of Cenred’s most accomplished soldiers, a lesser in the ranks but superior on the battlefield. He was stripped naked as Morgause instructed her how to tease and manipulate with her hands alone. It was a lesson in the art of seduction and sensuality and Morgana was an apt pupil_.

_It was as if her half-sister knew of her innermost desires and she found the man compelling in his beauty: tall, broad-shouldered, golden-spun hair and dark blue eyes and full, sensuous lips, muscled and in fine form. She learned quickly how to make him hard, make him want her, yet he was not to touch her. No, not until Morgause instructed him to his knees and lifted Morgana’s skirts herself. By the time he pressed his mouth to her cunt she was mystified at the dampness already there and as Morgause steadied her from behind she came for the first time, her hands fisting golden hair and dreaming, imagining, flashing what she had hoped were future visions of her heart’s desire bringing her to her peak. Even as Morgause coupled with the man with narrative, all she could so was imagine Uther’s son_ -

“ _Arthur_ ,” she whispered, slipping fingers inside. She was more gentle than he had been but still moved quickly, bringing forth her climax so soon as she was already so primed. She imagined him above her, inside her, filling her, becoming hers completely and she did not know if it was a vision or merely an image conjured in her mind. 

It was over in seconds without so much as a moan and she felt empty. 

Even so, she smiled as she drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally an update, I hope you enjoyed. I am a shameless smut writer so I cut to the chase. :) Next chapter will be an Arthur POV.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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